What it means to “turtle up”

Athletes of all levels tend to train in their “safety zones.” That is, they do the types of training with which they are fairly familiar, comfortable and proficient. We’re all a little like turtles in that respect. Content to move along at our own speed.

But when something comes along to challenge us, we tuck our heads and legs into that protective shell of excuses and avoidance, and go back to what we usually do. And get slower in the process while we tell ourselves we’re getting fitter. Part of that may be true, there is nothing wrong with using slow or steady training to build a base. But we’re talking about something else. Breaking out of a rut. Getting a little faster. Preparing for a race or event.

In those cases, training the exact same pace all the time is exactly the opposite of what you need to do to improve at your sport.

So whether you are a runner or a rider, it is important to keep your mind open to train in challenging situations. Throw out those turtle legs and stick out that turtle neck and give something new (or too long ignored) a try.

Coming out of your shell

As someone who is rebuilding a running career after periods of low activity due to injury and bio-mechanical issues, it is pleasant to simply run 5 miles without tugs or pulls from calves or knees. But sooner or later if you want to break out of a training rut you need to go a little farther than you usually do, climb some hills, or do some speedwork.

The best prescription to break out of a rut is to accept an invitation to train with someone else, and to try something new.

Train with a triathlete. They’re always doing crazy, different stuff. 

My first invitation this summer to break out of a training shell came from a triathlete who is frankly a little nuts about his training, as most triathletes are. So if you want to get tested on your running or riding, find a triathlete and invite yourself along. Or wait until they invite you. Because they’re generally either lonely types, are sick of getting pounded in their regular training group, or they’ve scared off all their other partners with their obsessions over heart rate and Zone training. So they usually appreciate company, and they’ll also usually take you farther, and sometimes faster, than you usually go in training. A short run for a triathlete is an hour. A short ride is 3 hours. You get the picture. They will stretch your little turtle legs, if you let them.

Entering the program

All triathletes have programs, so they’re always doing something very specific and interesting if you enter their world for a day or two.

First my triathlon buddy cooked up a hill workout. It’s been a while since I did hills so it sounded rather fun. Ironically he chose a workout spot behind our church on a long, steady grade on which our high school cross country team trained many years ago. Back then it was gravel, and we used to cut across the golf course to reach the hill. Now there’s a sign at the fence to the golf course. “No Jogging. No Biking. Private Property.” Times change. We used to love to run on that course.

But the hill was still there, so we did a set of 6 or 8 repeats at triathlete speed, which is “get up the hill the most efficient way possible” speed. Not too fast, not too slow. But it was good for my calves to be tested on the incline, and I ran an hour with him up and down that hill with a warmup and cooldown. Came out of my shell, in other words.

Hitting the road with Dr. Joe the Triathlete

Next I rode 40 miles with the triathlete we call Dr. Joe. Because he’s a doctor. And his name is Joe.

Joe sucks at riding hills. So I pull away from him while climbing. But Joe can fly going downhill, usually well into the upper 30s in terms of MPH. Then he hits the flats and keeps rolling at 26mph, mile after mile. It is best to tuck into his draft and just go for the ride. Because frankly he will run you down like a squirrel if you get in front of him, especially if you are going against the wind.

Rumor has it that Dr. Joe’s legs were surgically transplanted from a rare breed of sub-African hippopotamus known for its ability to run 30 miles per hour underwater. His thighs are huge and the piston-like motion he attains while rolling at cruising speed can be hypnotizing. Several cyclists have gotten lost in this cadence vortex and ridden straight off the road behind him. It takes Dr. Joe about 1.5 miles to slow down and finally turn around, so most cyclists are up and riding again by the time he swings back to check on you. So it all works out. Suffice to say that riding with Dr. Joe definitely pulls one out of our 20mph rut.

Find your own Dr. Joe, and you’ll be yanked out of your rut like a snapping turtle in a ditch.

Riding a circuit with Andy the Artist

Exactly last night I got a call from a character I’ll call Andy. That’s because Andy’s his real name. But he’s way more than an ordinary Andy or an ordinary cyclist. Andy was, and is, a proficient mountain biker. So when he hops on a road bike he does not generally limit himself to the boring practices of other road cyclists. For instance, he can easily ride on the gravelly road shoulder beyond the safe harbor of the asphalt with little problem. He has good bike handling skills, in other words. So he doesn’t like boring rides.

So Andy calls me and says, “Can you meet me tomorrow morning at my place? I’ve got this circuit I do. It’s kind of like Andy’s Criterium.”

Well, it was way cool. He lives in a neighborhood with lots of hilly roads, and they happen to cut through the woods in sort of parallel grids connected on either end by a big circular loop road. So we swerved and tore around corners, went up steep hills and flew down others. It was, in a word, fun. And somewhat Andy Artistic.

Then we broke out of his neighborhood and entered a wealthy Disneyland neighborhood where the houses were bigger than most suburban high schools. The roads were smooth and there were even fake bridges between dual ponds on either side of the road. That’s the lengths to which some rich people will go to feel like they’ve got enough money to live in a quaint area that isn’t really quaint.

But we were happy to steal through their neighborhood, cutting tight corners and whaling down streets at 30 miles an hour with no traffic with our bikes spinning along above the speed limit. Andy announced: “We’re going to turn right at the next corner and sprint to the next street.” And we did. He was faster. Much. I learned from the feeling in my legs that more sprinting would definitely help my day-to-day cycling, and also some climbing too. But the sprinting is fun. Although it hurts. So we motored down, circled round and headed back toward home.

But we were still crazy little turtles breaking out of our shells.

We came tripping back through the carefully coiffed customs of suburban unreality. Right past a house that Beach Boy Brian Wilson used to own. Back across the fake bridge between the ponds. Back into the real world.

Andy picked up the pace (again) and burst onto the bike path leading back home toward his house. The flora on either side stood tall and bursting with spikes of yellow goldenrod. The sun was shining at us with that late August morning angle and Andy the artist was happy someone had joined him on his cool little anti-turtle circuit. I was happy that I kept up and didn’t slow Andy the artist down because he’s a pretty good rider.

The empiric results on the cyclometer said 16 miles at 17.8 miles an hour, with lots of climbing. Top speed: 36mph.

Faster than a turtle, you might say. But let’s not be so sure.

For those who might want to actually see a map of Andy’s Criterium, here it is: